Cyn parked her car in the driveway and turned off the ignition. She stared at the tan and brick colonial where she’d lived for sixteen years. A film of white still blanketed the roof’s dark shingles, leeching onto the siding and front steps in sporadic, lazy intervals. Clumps of curled Kale leaves lay shriveled in deep terra cotta pots near the front door, in stoic honor of Cyn’s absence.
She wouldn’t be sitting in the driveway with her green bean casserole on the seat beside her if her oldest daughter hadn’t called yesterday. When was the last time Kiki had asked her for anything? It was an odd, desperately angry yet pleading conversation, with Kiki spewing out bits and pieces of half intelligible phrases, but the emotion thrummed hard and fast beneath the words. Need.
So, Cyn had agreed to join the girls and their father for Thanksgiving dinner. Janie had asked to spend the night with her father so she could help get everything ready. Once Cyn dropped Janie off, she spent the next hour fumbling through her closet, throwing outfits on the bed, and finally settling on a lavender sweater, (normal size), gray cashmere slacks and her new pearls.
But now as she gathered her purse and the casserole, she wished she’d left her hair natural. Would Sam notice? Of course he would, engineers always noticed the details. It was the big picture they usually missed.
And what was the big picture?
Cyn shoved open the car door and stepped into the brisk late afternoon air. She’d made it five steps when the front door flew open and Janie hurled herself outside. “Here, let me help you.” She grabbed the casserole and leaned up to give Cyn a peck on the cheek.
“What, no sweats?” Cyn laughed, eyeing her daughter’s black slacks and pink turtleneck. She’d even pulled her hair up in a high ponytail with a pink ribbon.
Janie grinned. “This is a special occasion. Besides, I’m saving the sweats for after I stuff myself. You look pretty fancy yourself.”
“Thank you.” Cyn ran a hand through her hair, wishing again for her own color.
“Wait until you smell the house,” Janie said over her shoulder. “I’m dying to dig into the pumpkin pies.”
Janie was right. The smell of turkey and pumpkin teased her nostrils the minute she stepped over the threshold. A million questions bounced through her head as she slid out of her coat and followed Janie into the kitchen. Had Sam tackled homemade stuffing too or was it Stouffer’s? And the gravy? Did he remember to strain it? Had he used the Betty Crocker Basics cookbook his mother gave them for their wedding?
The first thing she encountered as she entered the kitchen was her husband’s behind. He was bent over the oven, basting the turkey.
“Hi,” Kiki said from her position at the counter where she sat peeling potatoes. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” Cyn wanted to fold her oldest daughter in her arms and tell her just how much she missed her but the hands off expression on Kiki’s face kept Cyn away.
Sam closed the oven and turned toward her. “Hi, Cyn. Happy Thanksgiving.” He stood there, glasses fogged from the oven, looking handsome and vulnerable, obviously trying to decide what to do.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Sam.” It seemed natural to go to him, lean up and kiss him on the cheek. His aftershave tickled her nose and brought back memories of them together. In bed. Cyn cleared her throat and moved several feet away, presumably to inspect the pistachio salad on the counter.
“This looks good. Who made it?”
“Shea,” Sam said.
“Shea made this?” Cyn wanted to ask why but clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t seen Shea or Derry since they’d made an impromptu visit to her condo a week ago. Shea had called twice and Derry three times but Cyn erased the messages.
It was so much easier that way.
Wasn’t it?
“Derry made the pumpkin pies,” Kiki said, sliding her a glance.
“Derry?” Cyn lifted the aluminum foil on one of the pie plates. Even Cyn had never made crust this golden. And look at the rolls. “Derry made these, too?”
“She did,” Sam said. “I guess the hours in the kitchen with her friend Tula Rae paid off.”
“I guess,” Cyn murmured, tucking the foil gently around the pie plate. “Why did they do this?”
“They didn’t want us to eat Chef Boyardee for Thanksgiving,” Kiki said.
“Why wouldn’t they do this?” Janie asked. “Aren’t they your friends?”
“Yes, of course they are.”
“Well, they were just being friends,” she said matter-of-factly.
Guilt pricked Cyn. She should’ve called them back, but she’d been so busy systematically demolishing her old life that she hadn’t wanted to risk it.
Sam handed her a glass of Chablis and asked, “Did you know Shea kicked Richard out?”
“No, she didn’t,” Cyn said, “they got back together.”
“Not as of this morning when she brought over the pistachio salad.”
“You’re kidding? She kicked him out?” Maybe that’s why Shea called her, for help. And she’d erased the messages.
“I guess she’d had it.” He sipped his wine and dropped tidbits as though he were discussing a character on All My Children.
“Richard is the father of Tanya Madison’s baby,” Janie said.
“Janie, how do you know such a thing?” Cyn set her wineglass on the counter and stared at her youngest daughter.
Janie shrugged and said, “Shea told us. She’s selling her house, too, and making her kids go to a cheaper school.”
Kiki snorted. “Spoiled brats. They always thought they were better than everybody just because they got to go to Georgetown.”
“And guess what else?” Janie’s face lit up as she relayed more information. “Shea’s quitting her job.”
“What?” Her youngest daughter clearly relished watching her mother’s growing confusion.
“And she’s moving away,” Janie paused for effect, then added, “to Ogunquit.”
“Sam?” Cyn turned to him, and asked in a small voice, “Is this true?”
He nodded, and from the disjointed recesses of her mind, she noticed he needed a haircut. After so many years, some things imbedded themselves on a person’s memory and would not be erased.
“I don’t understand…”
“How could you?” Kiki said from behind her. “You haven’t been here.”
“Kiki.” Sam’s voice held a firm no-nonsense tone.
“It’s okay,” Cyn said and turned toward her oldest daughter. “You’re right, Kiki, I haven’t been here. But I’m only ten minutes or a phone call away.”
Kiki shrugged and threw another potato into the colander. “If you didn’t know about Shea, then I bet you don’t know about Derry either.”
“What about Derry? Is she okay?”
“She’s pregnant.”
“What?”
Kiki smiled at her mother’s response. “That’s right. Pregnant. Knocked up.”
“Kiki. Enough.” Sam threw her a warning look.
Kiki ignored him and picked up another potato. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re not around. You miss out on everything and then, heck, you’re no good to anybody.”
The rest of the afternoon was a disaster. Kiki fell into her sullen, non-talkative mode and only spat out catty remarks. Janie burned the dinner rolls and spilled half the gravy boat on the white tablecloth. Even with the help of the Orange Blossom Maid-for-You mixer, Kiki’s mashed potatoes lumped together and Sam forgot to add eggs to the stuffing which made it drier than sawdust. And he wouldn’t stop apologizing for the mishaps, as though her decision to stay with him was based on the grade of the meal.
Kiki ran to her room as soon as she shoved the last dish in the cupboard with a hurried, “See you later.”
Sam wiped off the drain board and stored it under the sink. He’d refused to let Cyn do more than find Tupperware for the leftovers. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it, to have no household responsibilities, to be a spectator rather than a constant participant in daily duties?
“This whole thing has been pretty rough on Kiki.”
“I’d like to talk to her, Sam.”
His kind, gray eyes settled on her. “I can’t guarantee she’ll talk to you. She may not even be civil.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure you want to subject yourself to that?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” His voice gentled and he reached out to clasp her hand quickly before releasing it. “Good luck.”
Cyn made her way up the stairs and down the hall to Kiki’s room, careful to avoid glancing into the master bedroom as she passed it. When she reached Kiki’s room, she knocked softly.
“Go away,” came a muffled noise from inside.
“Kiki, I need to talk to you.”
“Go away. You don’t want to be here, so go!”
Cyn jiggled the door, surprised to find it unlocked. Globs of light shone from the orange and pink lava lamp on the bedside stand. She inched her way into the room, stepping on wads of clothing and jumbled heaps of shoes and belts until she reached the bed. She knelt down next to her daughter and whispered, “Kiki, can we talk? Please?”
“You said it all when you walked out on Dad and me,” she mumbled against her pillow.
“No, no I didn’t. I love you, honey, and this has nothing to do with you.”
Kiki turned her head toward Cyn and asked, “What about Dad? Do you love him, too?”
“I’ll always love your father.”
“Just not enough to live with him?”
“I don’t know, Kiki. We have a lot to work out.” Cyn laid a hand on the bed next to Kiki’s arm. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you and be part of your life.”
“Right.”
“Why does it have to be so hard between us?” Cyn tried to keep her voice even but the pain of her daughter’s rejection filled her lungs. “Why can’t you let me in? Please?” Cyn didn’t realize her face was wet until her daughter reached up and swiped at a stray tear.
“No matter what I did, it never seemed to be good enough for you,” Kiki said, her voice breaking. “So, it was just easier to stop trying.”
Cyn reached out and smoothed Kiki’s hair from her face. Her fingers traced the new stud in her daughter’s right ear but she made no comment other than, “Oh, Kiki, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m smart, I know that, but everybody thinks I’m some prodigy who’s never going to make a mistake and who has to be so good all the time. Jesus, sometimes I just do things because I’m tired of acting the part.”
“Like having sex with Brad?”
“What?”
“Janie told me about the condoms in your underwear drawer, remember?”
“We didn’t have sex.”
Cyn sucked in a deep breath and said, “If we’re going to start over, we have to be honest with each other. I’d rather have the truth, no matter how bad.”
“I didn’t have sex with him,” she said again.
So, the condoms were for a friend? Cyn kept her mouth shut and waited.
“I was thinking about it,” Kiki admitted, “and then this thing with Dad and that woman happened and it totally grossed me out.”
“I see.” It was still hard to think of Sam with another woman.
“So, I’m not ready for that right now. I’ve got enough to deal with.”
“Good.” Cyn looked at her daughter, framed by the orange-pink glow of the lava lamp and saw the neediness in the young girl-woman.
Kiki swiped at her eyes and said, “I’d like to start visiting at your house, if that’s okay.”
“That would be wonderful.” Then Cyn smiled and added, “Janie’s going to be a busy girl cleaning her junk out of the spare bedroom.”
“I can help her,” Kiki offered.
“You will?” The offer was a shock and a revelation.
Kiki shrugged. “Sure. What’s family for, right?”
“I think your sister misses you,” Cyn said, picturing Janie wandering around the condo or flicking through TV channels.
“I kind of miss her, too, but don’t tell her.” Kiki sniffed and said, “Mom, I’m the one who told Dad not to tell you about Janie being the one who was driving. He was all ready to tell you, but I said it would only be worse if he did and then Janie might never get her license.” She took a deep breath, blew it out, “He hated lying about it.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“And the other”—she hesitated then went on—“the woman, I know it was wrong but he stopped before anything horrible happened. He walks around the house playing Wind Beneath My Wings when he doesn’t think I’m home. And I caught him holding one of your T-shirts. And I swear to God he sprays your perfume every night before he goes to bed because I smell it. It’s like a piece of him is gone and he doesn’t think he deserves to get it back. Maybe he thinks you don’t need him now that you’ve got all this money and all these things. I mean, we both know he could never buy you that kind of place. Dad buys mixers for your birthday, not pearls and designer clothes. And he’s a little dorky in an absent-minded professor kind of way, and—”
“I love my mixer,” Cyn blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back a fresh flood of tears.
“Then give him another chance, Mom. Please?”